


here by choice

by k0skareeves



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comfort, F/M, Flirting, I'm not sure how to tag this, Roommates, Slice of Life, Tending to Wounds, ballerina!Sansa, boxer!Jon, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:07:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26488402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k0skareeves/pseuds/k0skareeves
Summary: "It's nothing, Sans." He breathes out, wonders if she can feel how hot his breath is, wonders if she hears the slight shake of his voice. "I'm fine, I promise."Ballerina/Boxer Modern AU who are also roommates. Basically, it's just Jon not speaking and Sansa being sweet.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 17
Kudos: 171





	here by choice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jeynestheon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeynestheon/gifts), [willowycreature](https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowycreature/gifts).



> For Liv, because this only exists since we had a conversation about it, and I'm hoping this will inspire her to write something of her own with this concept. And also for Mani because she wanted something sweet.
> 
> Any mistakes are my own.

He’s inside the locker room, removing the once white bandages from his hands, bloody knuckles aching in a familiar way, when she comes. Jon knows, without even having to turn, that she's there, because her perfume fills the room, in a sweet way, so different from the stench of men and sweat and blood that always lingers after a fight. He hears her footsteps on the concrete floor until she’s close enough that he can see the top of her shoes. Still, he waits for her to speak, pretending to still be immersed on his task.

"How bad?"

Jon lifts his eyes at last. She's leaning against one of the lockers, wearing a grey sweater over a pair of black jeans and her usual brown boots. The sweater looks too big on her, shapeless, and it takes him a second to realize that it's actually his. She must've left in a hurry this afternoon, grabbing whatever she found hanging on their coat rack. It’s not that he minds it that she wears his clothes. It’s quite the opposite, really. He enjoys the sight of her on something that belongs to him, in a way that he knows he shouldn’t, because that does not automatically make her his, and he also shouldn’t be wanting to have her in the first place.

Trying to refocus, Jon lifts a brow at her question, and she replies, pointing at his face with her chin. "How bad is the pain?"

He's got a bloody nose that took a minute to stop bleeding, red drops still very bright on his white shirt, a cut right above his brow that is now stitched up and a busted lip. Not bad at all, considering how the other guy ended up. It was a tough match, but Jon came through eventually. He always does. That's why they hate him so much.

"It's a four."

She smirks. "That's unlikely."

"Alright, a five then."

She rolls her eyes, but doesn't push. Her bag is on the floor by the door, her pink slippers tied around the strap. These are the old ones, who look faded and dirty, the ones she wears to practice. He glances at the clock on the wall, already knowing that it's too early for her to be free, which can only mean she probably skipped to come see him, something that she never does. The notions strikes at something inside him that he chooses to ignore for now, dropping his eyes again to his hands and resuming his work.

"Practice ended early. One of the girls got hurt and we had to stop."

"I didn't say anything."

"No, but you were wondering."

He suppresses a laugh at that. She always knows, too damn nosy for his liking, always up in his business and reading him easy like a kid's book.

(Or maybe he's been failing at hiding himself lately. It's true that he feels more at ease when she's around, and maybe he's been relaxing, dropping his walls. Maybe he's letting her in, which is why she can see him so clearly, all the good and the bad and the really ugly truth that lives inside him. And she hasn't ran away yet, despite seeing him for what he truly is, despite knowing more each day that passes. He doesn't bother trying to speculate on the why, and tries to keep his head in place because eventually she will leave. She has to. He’s managed to push everyone away at some point and she will be no different.)

"Your brother came by today. Asked about you." He is now purposefully trying to change the subject, not smooth, like she would do if their roles were reversed. She's good with her words and he's good with his fists. She's also good at many other things, but all Jon has to him is his quick brain and the strong right hook God gave him. He makes sure to use that at his advantage whenever he can, and that's yet another thing she knows, but seems to overlook the more time they spend together.

"And you told him..."

"To fuck off."

That earns him a laugh. Short, yes, because it's not proper to laugh at such language, and when he looks up she's blushing, covering her mouth with one of her hands. He can't help but smile, hating how easy it is now for him to be affected by her. She keeps her eyes on his face, smile slowly fading, brows furrowing momentarily, and then she's moving. Two strides of her long legs take her to stand right in front of him, and he straightens his back, keeping his eyes on her. She lifts her hands to his face, gentle, fingers threading through his beard while also inspecting the cut on his eyebrow. He closes his eyes to her touch, hoping she hasn't noticed the turmoil hidden behind them, the fire alight inside by her closeness.

"Really,” she whispers, voice too soft. He feels like he’s burning. “How bad does it hurt?"

"It's nothing, Sans." He breathes out, wonders if she can feel how hot his breath is, wonders if she hears the slight shake of his voice. "I'm fine, I promise."

Silence stretches, her hands still cradling his face. He risks opening his eyes, catches her staring at him, ocean blue ready for him to drown in. She nods, once, then she's kneeling between his thighs. He swallows at the view, lifts his chin to stare at the ceiling while she takes his hands in hers and starts working on his dirty bandages. He lets her, partly because he likes the feel of her delicate touch, but mainly because he doesn't want to meet her eyes again, knowing that it will be hard to focus on much if he actually sees her kneeling down in front of him like that. He might feel the urge to do something stupid, like reach for her face and kiss her, like tangle his bloody hands on her soft hair, tugging it free from her braid, wrapping it around his fist. He closes his eyes at the thought, fingers itching for her, wincing while she cleans his hands with the rubbing alcohol sitting by his side on the bench. They don't speak while she carefully wraps clean bandages around his bruises, and only when she's on her feet again does he look at her. Jon doesn’t think he’s imagining the blush on her cheeks or the way her eyes linger on his lips for a little too long. He doesn’t appreciate how fast his heart is racing, but there’s not much he can do about that.

“Thanks.” He mutters.

She shrugs, looking down at her feet. “Anytime.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments are always appreciated.
> 
> Come find me on tumblr if you feel like it :)
> 
> Xxxxxx


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